


belief is a beautiful armour

by admiraloftheships



Series: continuum [4]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Based on a John Mayer song, Belief, Canon Compliant, Continuum, F/M, Gabriel-centric story, Jazz - Freeform, Meet-Cute, Memories, Record shop, What if Gabriel's not all bad, jazzflowergirls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiraloftheships/pseuds/admiraloftheships
Summary: Gabriel Agreste is cold and quiet. Distant. He holds within him a core of hard belief to keep himself going. Keep himself on the hunt for the Miraculous. But sometimes, all it takes is one simple little thing to bring back all the things forgotten. The real reason why he did it in the first place. Memories of her.And all it took was some jazz music at a dinner.
Relationships: Emilie Agreste/Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth
Series: continuum [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705189
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	belief is a beautiful armour

**Author's Note:**

> From Gabriel's POV. Semi-good Gabriel.
> 
> "Oh, everyone believes  
> In how they think it ought to be  
> Oh, everyone believes  
> And they're not going easily  
> Belief is a beautiful armor  
> But makes for the heaviest sword  
> Like punching underwater  
> You never can hit who you're trying for"  
>  \- John Mayer

It wasn't often that Gabriel Agreste ever showed any emotion at all, but he thought that maybe this time, he’d allow an exception. Not for any real reason at all, really, but simply because he couldn’t quite help it. 

He had done his best to try to stomp out any trace of her from his everyday life, done everything he could to make sure that he would never, ever, have to face that again. 

Gabriel had been mostly successful in this regard. 

His workspace was usually austere and minimalist anyway, more room for sketching designs on clean sheets of specially bought drawing paper and all stylish straight lines. And numbers. Numbers were, oddly enough, a refuge.

They’d always confounded him, in the past. But that was then, and this was now. In the now, he would much rather immerse himself in statistics, in distributions and algebra, perfect trigonometric angles, extrapolation and regression.

Because, like everything else, it was everything that wasn’t her. Gabriel shook his head again, slowly, deliberately. He could not think about her. Not yet. 

But still, here he was, standing in a corner of a lavish ballroom, hoping that everyone would leave the room, if even just for a minute, and leave him alone, with just himself and the music.

Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. 

Gabriel, being the organiser for this party, commemorating the launch of the new line of menswear, could not simply slink away as he so often did. 

“Ah, Gabriel!” Gabriel kept his features still and expressionless, turning to face Prezoir, one of the biggest investors in the company. He couldn’t afford to waste allies simply because of an emotional weakness. 

Maurice Prezoir was ageing, though you wouldn’t quite know it from looking at him. Jovial, active, and dressed in the loudest suit that Gabriel had allowed his company to sell, he clasped one arm around Gabriel’s shoulder, brandishing a glass of wine.

“I have to say, this new line is looking really good! I know we’re already at the top, so it’s a good thing you’re always looking for the next level, eh?” Prezoir brandished his glass again, waving extravagantly.

A few drops of wine scattered on the carpeted floor.

No matter, Gabriel thought. Prezoir had insisted that he provide the wine himself. 

“Well, I’m just happy that the people seem to be conducive to the new line. The recent test groups provided us with rather robust numbers-”

“Oh, enough about numbers, Gabriel!” Prezoir shook his head. “Look, the reason why Prezoir Advertising is the largest advertising firm in France isn’t because of numbers.”

Gabriel’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. Of course, he had heard all this before. Prezoir would go on to talk about his gut feelings and how they had-

“-led me to offer my services to all the right clients, and then, they-”

Yes, yes, Gabriel absentmindedly scrolled through Prezoir’s script in his mind, something about the executive meeting in the club when he had to go to the toilet and then-

“-let me tell you, the tiling in there was exquisite, I knew immediately that-” 

Gabriel waited for exactly four minutes and thirty seven seconds before Prezoir unwrapped his arm from his shoulders and headed back off into the crowd with the subtlety of an elephant. 

Usually it took around five minutes for Prezoir to finish his spiel. Must be more wine than usual today. Gabriel toyed with the idea of a wine-coloured suit, but discarded it quickly. 

Nothing like that would work for the atmosphere the brand needed.

The atmosphere he needed. Cold, beautiful, utilitarian, elegant. But something about where he was today, was just slightly different. Something was there which he couldn’t quite put his finger on, which kept reminding him of...of...a time best left unsaid.

And even within his own mind, Gabriel could not bring himself to address it directly. It would simply have to wait. 

Not now, not here. 

The lineup of clothing in the glass cases was a nice touch, Gabriel decided. The style and the angles at which they rested varied per piece. He’d have to ask Nathalie about that later. He’d been forced to delegate more than usual on this one, ever since a couple months ago, Chat Noir and Ladybug had been working together so much better than usual. 

His...nocturnal activities needed to adjust to that. 

Gabriel instinctively pushed his glasses back up his nose. Again, a spectre of memory appeared within his mind, immediately. Something was up. Something was different, but he still didn’t know what it could possibly be.

Fortunately, no one had come up to him much, and so he was hardly distracted as Gabriel began to walk slowly around the ballroom, looking for...whatever it was. 

It had taken some work, but eventually people began to understand that Gabriel did not converse often, and it helped that he only invited people who understood that well. Those people, and Maurice Prezoir.

Maurice had his own charm, however, and Gabriel knew that he could not sacrifice a chance to draw in investors simply for his own personal comfort. That was unbusinesslike, he believed. 

And he needed to believe. 

Nathalie’s back appeared out from the crowd in front of him. Gabriel stepped forward, suddenly feeling lighter and more energetic. His fingers twitched. What was happening?

“Mr Agreste,” Nathalie said softly, “Is anything required?”

Gabriel shook his head once. “No, not yet, Nathalie. But tell me, who came up with the angles for the pieces?”

He inclined his head towards the clothes resting in their glass cases.

Nathalie smiled at that. “Well, believe it or not, Mr Agreste, Adrien had something to do with that.”

Now that was eyebrow raising. “Adrien?” Gabriel repeated, slightly surprised. “He came up with that?”

Nathalie tilted her head. “Well, not on his own. One of his friends helped. A Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I believe you’ve met her?”

“Oh yes,” Gabriel recalled a brief memory of a shy girl with pigtails. “A promising talent, I should say.”

“Perhaps you should,” Nathalie said, her tone bristling slightly, “seeing as your son is spending a considerable amount of time with her.”

Gabriel blinked at that. No one had ever before insinuated this clearly that he had been paying less attention to his son than was good for him. Gabriel had pushed all of those thoughts away himself.

That belief that he needed to keep....her at bay, it was both armour and sword. If he had ever stopped to think about it, Gabriel might even have realised that it was like punching underwater, never quite hitting who he was aiming for.

His own instincts rebelled against such uncoordinated measures. 

But it worked, he found himself arguing. So he made his way towards the front of the ballroom, his thoughts disturbed by the feeling. Still, something was making him feel raw and open. Something persistent.

He made it to the front of the ballroom, and then he knew. 

It appeared that Adrien had not only helped out with the displays, but with music choice as well. Gabriel vaguely remembered his son, one day, had come home, strangely upbeat, with a video recording of a jazz singer. 

Adrien had played along to it, and for the first time in many years, jazz had filled the hallways of the mansion. 

Gabriel had once been an avid collector of records of all kinds. He was partial mainly to classical recordings of Bach and Vivaldi. She had been the one to collect jazz. Coltrane, Jarrett, Monk. 

It was one of the many reasons that he had focused Adrien’s lessons on the classical, taking refuge in the old masters, notes that had been written and unchanged for decades, soothing similarity. 

Even at the usual events, corporate lounge jazz was just soulless enough for him to leave as background music. 

But the live band in front of him was a far different prospect than the piped in sounds over the speakers. 

And perhaps just to torture him, a young woman, perhaps Adrien’s age, pretty, with long, light honey-blond hair was sitting at the piano, her fingers skating over a softly lively tune, looking so much like...her. 

The bass player was good as well, another young woman, dark haired, with a bob cut. Beside them, chatting quietly, were another two girls, one at the drums and another with an electric guitar slung over her shoulder. 

The piano cut through the quiet murmur of the ballroom with precision, exactly that type of controlled chaos, full of spirit and skill, which she’d been so good at.

Gabriel tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t resist. He closed his eyes. Perhaps this once, he’d let the past pull on him. 

\--

The door creaked open, Gabriel wincing at the sound of the unoiled hinges. He really should have fixed that, he decided to remind himself. As a university student working part-time at a record shop, it wasn’t quite his responsibility, but Gabriel thought that he might as well do it. 

He would first have to locate the oil, but that was a minor detail. Gabriel just would not stand there and let-

Someone coughed politely, and Gabriel was suddenly aware that there was in fact a customer, the reason why he’d heard the creaking in the first place. 

He looked up, and had to blink.

Almost adjusted his glasses to make sure he was seeing correctly. 

A girl was standing in front of him, golden blonde hair tumbling down her back in a wonderfully elegant cascade, and her delicate features were curved in an angelic little half-smile as she looked bashfully away, clad stylishly in a blue blazer and with a beret perched on her head. 

“Yes?” Gabriel found himself saying instinctively. 

She looked up at him for a moment, trying not to catch his eye. She mumbled something under her breath, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Even if she had been speaking loud enough, Gabriel was not quite sure if his mind was capable of processing her words. 

Then the girl took a deep breath, and tilted her head up to meet Gabriel’s eyes. 

Startling green, uncertain but bright, and she spoke again. Somehow, he understood, even though he was trapped in those eyes.

“We should have that record somewhere in uh...” Gabriel usually was familiar with the catalogue, almost totally, since often there was little else to do but browse when the shop was empty. 

Helpless, he looked down at the register and tried to think. 

It occurred to Gabriel after half a second that looking down may have not been a particularly great move. Gabriel looked back up, and his heart sank. 

The girl looked crestfallen, and increasingly embarrassed. “It’s fine, I can go look for it myself.”

She glanced away, biting her lip, presenting a stunning profile that had Gabriel itching for a pen and paper.

“No!” Gabriel considered leaping the counter, but decided his lack of actual physical skill would be a slight liability in this maneuver. He settled for an undignified, but relatively quick scramble to the side of the counter, high-stepping over boxes of old records to get to the girl’s side. 

“I don’t have...a lot to do right now, and I’m sure I’ve seen that before,” Gabriel stumbled over his words, hoping that he didn’t sound like a total fool. He blinked anxiously up at the girl, who seemed equally flighty. 

“Lead the way, then,” she said, her smile tentative but relieved. 

Gabriel forced himself to relax, his fingers tracing out the outline of the girl’s profile on his jeans. 

“Yes, it should be right over...here,” Gabriel stepped confidently over to the opposite side of the store, into the jazz section. 

The girl frowned a little. 

“Looks a little...cluttered.” 

“Well, uh, I thought it might fit the mood,” Gabriel offered, not quite willing to meet her eyes. The truth behind the degeneration of the store from the neatly lined and alphabetically organised sections nearer the counter and then further out to the haphazard boxes and stands was quite simple. 

Gabriel had decided long ago that he would organise the things that he liked. Meaning shifting the classical section to beside the counter. 

And then only spending his time organising that. Gabriel did not like jazz. 

It was at that moment that Gabriel realised that the girl probably did like jazz, considering that she was here to buy a jazz vinyl. This may have seemed a small thing, but it mattered to Gabriel.

“Right, of course,” she said, a hint of amusement clear in her voice. Her voice, which was slightly husky and musical and did strange things to Gabriel’s ears. 

“You don’t exactly strike me as a jazz person,” she said, tilting her head upwards in mock disdain. “Is that why all these records are...”

“Well,” Gabriel began, mind racing for a way out of this situation, “since jazz is usually uh, unpredictable, I thought it wouldn’t do to be too organised. As long as I know where everything is...”

She laughed, a clear little sound that rang in his ears and had him trying as hard as possible to remember everything, to seal it all away in a capsule and bottle it for every single day of his life. 

“Makes enough sense,” she acknowledged. She tilted her head, and then reached across Gabriel to snag a vinyl record from a shelf, sliding it out with a puff of cascading dust. 

“Got it!” she looked thoroughly satisfied and content, and now she held the record tightly in her hands, smiling up at him. Gabriel reminded himself again to remember that he was meant to collect money too.

There was a slight awkward silence as they stood there, until finally they made their way to the counter, where Gabriel discreetly gave her a 25% discount and she retaliated with a larger than average tip. 

“Try listening to jazz sometime,” she blurted, looking away a little. “I wouldn’t want you to have all this and not listen to any of it.”

Gabriel felt a warmth blossom in his chest, and felt bolder, bold enough to say:

“Well, if you’ve got time, we have a gramophone right here,” Gabriel said, hoping he was as confident as he sounded. 

“Really?” she said, blonde hair shifting as she turned to look at the listening room in the back. 

“Yeah,” Gabriel said, his heart in his throat. “As long as you listen to some classical music too.”

“I’m fine with that,” she smiled again, brighter, sliding the record out of its cover. 

\--

Gabriel decided to turn away from the musicians, feigning a look of mild interest. He surveyed the rest of the ballroom. 

Prezoir was holding court somewhere on the far side, and Nathalie was busy with some senior accountants in one corner. Everyone else was milling around with a general sense of vague enjoyment, and the urge to summon his powers was dimming.

Especially as the music continued in the background. 

His son appeared from the crowd, dressed in a suit that was the first production unit of the new line. It looked excellent on him, and Gabriel realised that Adrien was practically as tall as he was now. 

Adult model, no longer a teen or child model. 

Something inside Gabriel stirred, furious at himself for missing Adrien’s childhood entirely. 

He pushed it down with the same cold feeling which helped lock away the memories of her as well-

“Father.”

“Adrien.”

Adrien hesitated. “How’s the event, Father?”

Gabriel nodded, trying to make sure that he remembered what he needed to do. He couldn’t let go of the pain just yet. He needed to hold on to it. The only thing that would keep him going down this path. 

“Good, Adrien. I heard you helped out a little bit.”

Adrien nodded awkwardly. 

“Not much. I suggested that we could do something with the cases, and Marinette came in to help me out with that.”

Gabriel decided that perhaps it was best that Adrien began to find other people that he could rely on, because he could not do it right now. Could not help his own son.

The price of conviction. One he was willing to pay, because in a way, saving her would mean saving Adrien as well. 

He really should’ve left, then, told Adrien to enjoy the rest of the day whatever way he wanted to. But Gabriel couldn’t quite help himself.

“Did you have anything to do with the music?”

“Yeah,” Adrien nodded, “I asked Nathalie if we couldn’t get some friends of mine to perform. They’ve done shows all over Paris, even for the Mayor once. Plus...”

Adrien’s eyes got wistful. “Jazz is nicer live.”

Gabriel let his eyes drift onto the girl again, blonde hair, fingers dancing over the keys. Then, a soft announcement by Nathalie. There would be a performance, specifically one that they would like to present to the crowd. 

A hush fell over the ballroom. The lights went down. The girl began playing, and her fingers were almost hitting a certain theme. Or perhaps Gabriel was just imagining it.

\--

“You really still don’t like it?” she asked, smiling up at him. 

Gabriel couldn’t quite resist giving her a smile back. It had been a couple months since she had walked into the record shop, and she’d come back several times, always listening to records with him, sometimes for hours. 

“I’m just...not a jazz person,” Gabriel shrugged. 

She sighed.

“I just prefer the structure of the classical pieces. It feels much more purposeful and intricate, knowing that they wanted to specifically create something.”

“And the key to jazz is that spontaneity and emotion help fill in the gaps, making something that sounds great and is wonderfully individual.”

This was the final, friendly point of tension between the two, as they continued talking in the record shop, her perched on a couple empty crates, empty record sleeves littering the floor around them. 

“You should check out the jazz places nearby,” she told him, “just to get a feel of how jazz can be like.”

Gabriel thought about it. He mostly kept to himself, stayed silently in his dorm room and studied. Fashion and business. He had a bit of a knack for it, and never really saw the point in much else.

Then again, there was a scheduled jazz performance in the foyer where the grand piano was on campus, and it wasn’t too far away. 

The door opened with a faint squeak. 

In a flash, she was on her feet, leaning over, her face suddenly so close to his, and then she whispered a quick goodbye and slipped away. 

He was still dazed when the poor man who had chosen to come in attempted for the fifth time to catch his attention. Gabriel didn’t notice until much later that before leaving, she’d slipped two dollars into his pocket. 

Gabriel let himself smile as he walked back to the dorm. Their ongoing back and forth between discounts and tips was endearing for Gabriel. 

Gabriel and her. He could imagine it. Except right then, he still didn’t know her name. 

He was still thinking about it when he walked into the campus, and right into a small crowd of people around a band set up around the grand piano. There was a man with a double bass, a drum kit had been set up, a brunette girl holding a guitar, two men in suits with trumpets, a couple microphone stands. 

Gabriel, satisfied that he was in the right place, decided to hang back a little bit and wait for it to begin. 

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for coming on this fine evening!”

Head down, flipping through a paperback, Gabriel let the names flutter by his skull. Then he became aware of a strange silence. Everyone was waiting for it to begin.

“Emilie, take it away!”

The pianist opened up, light and delicate, and the bass joined in, and the pianist began to bring in touches of the deeper notes, seemingly ebbing and flowing the mood at will. 

It sounded purposeful, all right. Driven by emotion and out of instinct, guided by skill and theory. It sounded personal. It sounded like…

Gabriel, who until then had been listening with his eyes closed, opened them now and raised his head. 

His eyes met sparkling green ones, and his heart leapt in his chest, as she immediately sprung into a lively, slightly melancholy tune that tugged at his heart and his soul, which he just knew was meant for him and just for him. 

Emilie sat at the grand piano, dressed formally in a tailored suit, her hair in an intricate braid down her back, her eyes on him, her fingers moving still, pausing and heading back in, as the entire band began to gel together, and as Gabriel continued to fall more and more into the music. 

She played and played, and Gabriel knew then that he would forever associate jazz with this woman, that he would grow to love jazz, and love her, too. 

He didn’t quite know what else to think. 

The performance picked up, then slackened as the trumpeter had a soberingly serious solo.

Caught in the movement of the music, Gabriel found himself swept away by the depth of emotion he thought was almost palpable. 

He found himself dreaming, and it turned out that he was right, of a future where the two of them could be together. 

They’d just met, so who was he to say all this?

But sometimes things just fall into place. 

And now it was just her playing, a simple series of cadences up and down. 

Gabriel let his eyes focus again, and she was still looking at him. As the remaining instruments faded. She let her fingers flutter over a theme that would haunt the rest of his days. 

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment more. 

Applause from the crowd. 

\--

Applause from the crowd. 

Gabriel opened his eyes. They were still blurry with tears. Coughing discreetly into his elbow, Gabriel took the opportunity to wipe his eyes dry while he was at it. Adrien, standing beside him, looked away hastily as the lights came back on. 

Gabriel stepped forward into the line of people congratulating the musicians. When he and Adrien reached the front, the girl gave Adrien a big smile, before swiveling to Gabriel. 

“Mr Agreste, I presume?”

“You presume correctly. Thank you for that performance. I found it most...enjoyable...”

“Oh,” the girl extended a hand. “Thank you, Mr Agreste. My name’s Amelie Delacroix.”

Gabriel tried to keep his heart rate in check. There were plenty of girls named Emily, Emilie, Amelia, Amelie and all other sorts of methods of spelling. This was not...it could not...Gabriel took a deep breath.

“My son, I believe, might benefit from several lessons.”

What was he saying? Jazz back in the house? Regularly? 

“Do leave your details with Nathalie. I hope we can work things out.”

Gabriel spun and left a bemused Adrien and a confused Amelie behind, his fingers twitching and his heart hammering. 

Later that night, finally alone, Gabriel sat in the listening room in the east wing of the mansion. He unearthed an old box from somewhere. There was the tug of the darkness, the swirling pangs of malevolent hunger and the delicious taste of power at his fingertips. 

But for once, he could resist it. 

Not forever, and this did not mean that he would discontinue his hunt for a way to save her.

But, more than he ever knew, Gabriel still needed to be reminded of her. 

To have the occasional memory stroll down the corridors of this too-empty house with him. Jazz for Adrien as well, but now, this was all for him.

Gabriel had always been praised for his sharpness of memory. Now they came back, snapping into place like a rubber band. 

He pulled out the record. The very first one she had bought from him, all those years ago. Put it in place. Let the needle drift downwards. Left down his guard, put aside his belief in his cause. Go back to a time where he had no need for either.

Gabriel closed his eyes and listened.

END

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to have a look at how Gabriel might've tried to use his hunt for the Miraculous as a coping mechanism. Focus on his belief in it so hard that that's why he neglects Adrien and is generally a douche. I think Gabriel is a pretty complex character, he's driven by an understandable motive and represses everything else. Hope you guys enjoyed this, I've been pretty silent for a while as I'm having dreaded exams, but hopefully progress on the other stuff will pick up as well. Until then!


End file.
